Days Go By
by Au revoir Amour
Summary: A mother died that day. A father wept. A son learned something. The world kept turning.


**_This is a one-shot that has nothing to do with my Kurt/Puck stories, just so ya know. ;)  
Jessi_**

* * *

A mother cradled her son that day, rocking him gently and trying to soothe him. His tears stained her shirt and his violent sobs shook her frail body, but she held onto him nonetheless. She whispered words of comfort, and told him he'd be all right. She told him she was sorry. He told her he loved her.

A mother died that day, and it was her husband who held her hand and wept. Their son sat in the corner and watched silently, because there were no words to express how he felt. His hands were shaking as he watched the strongest man he knew crying and quietly mumbling words of prayer that did absolutely nothing to soothe the two broken hearts in the room, or the one which had stopped beating.

A mother was buried that day, and her son shook for the entire service, his eyes focussed on his black patent shoes. It was cold, and the father wore his wife's woollen mittens to keep his hands warm, every once and a while letting a tear slip free as he remembered her wearing them. The son's suit was uncomfortable and his chest ached with every breath, but it wasn't because of the cold weather. He felt the cold so much deeper than the wind, and all he wanted was to be held against his mother's chest and cry.

* * *

Kurt grew up a lot that year. He figured out that God doesn't always come through, and that you can never depend on anybody. His father watched him become distant, refusing to make friends at school. He started singing, sitting on the floor of his mother's bedroom next to her dresser. All her clothes remained untouched except by him, as he ran his fingers along soft fabric that still smelled like her, and hummed melancholy tunes. Sometimes his father would watch from the doorway, and sometimes he would cry.

Kurt knew he was different when he started junior high. The seventh grade was complicated for any kid, but for Kurt it was much more confusing. All he wanted was to ask questions, and to have his mother tell him that everything was all right. He wanted to know if what he was feeling was normal, but he dare not ask his father. He knew that his father would be ashamed of him, and he didn't want to let the only parent he had left down.

* * *

Burt was never as poetic in expressing his feelings as his son was, but wished he were when Kurt grew older. He wanted to tell his son how much he loved him, how much he excepted him as he was; he wanted to, but couldn't. His son grew up not knowing that it was okay to be who he was, because Burt couldn't talk about it. He wished his wife were alive to help him, and he wished she could see how beautiful their boy was.

Burt had known long before his son had told him he was gay, but it was still different to hear it from Kurt directly. He wished his wife were there to comfort Kurt with him, to hold him like she used to. He tried his best, but raising a son on your own was no easy task for anyone, and when your son was more complicated than other boys, it sure didn't make it easier. But he tried, and he hoped his son could see that.

* * *

Kurt visited her grave every year. He lay flowers on the headstone and ran his fingers along her name. He used to cry every time he was there, but as the cold wind battered against his designer jacket that day, he did not. He smiled and told her how much he loved her, and he didn't shed a single tear. His chest still ached, but it was duller. He could handle it. He felt... better. Not perfect, but better.

Kurt learned something that year. The year of slushies and glee and coming out and triumph; he learned that sometimes God does come through, even if it is in some rather strange ways. Had his mother been around, he might not have gotten so close to his father. He might never have known how much his dad really loved him. And even though he missed her every day, he was thankful that he had everything he had. He loved his mother, and his father, and himself, completely.

* * *

A mother smiled that day. She reached out to touch her son's face while he slept; there was a smile on his face because he was content with who he was and where he was going. She had told him he would be all right and she hadn't been wrong; it had just taken a little longer than she had expected.


End file.
